Super Massive Fat Bloke by Erato

Ooh baby, do you know what's for supper?
Ooh baby, where's my Toblerone?
I've eaten all the dips and Pringles
How long before the pies are done?

Ooh,oh,oh I need a little bite,
Ooh, oh, oh, my pants are getting tight.

I raid the cupboard in the dead of night
And eat all the biscuits, so I'm super massive.
I sneak downstairs in the dead of night
and I cook sausage rolls, that's why I'm super massive.

(Super Massive Fat Bloke)

Ooh Babe I don't share food with no one,
Ooh babe I won't share food with you
If you try to take a chip from my plate
You're going to loose a finger or two.

Ooh, oh,oh, don't try to pull that shite
Ooh, oh, oh, we'll end up in a fight.

Doughnuts, pasties and banoffee pie,
I can eat half the contents of the Super Market.
Fish and chips and a breakfast fry,
I eat the lot that's why I'm Super Massive.

Sausages in bread rolls.

Saucissonnet

Oh Sausage in your crisp and gleaming skin
crackling and spitting there upon my pan
How savoury sweet the flesh you hold within
How needful to the nourishment of man.
In breakfasts, in a sandwich or a roll,
with ketchup or mustard as it take my mood.
No words suffice, your wonders to extol
Oh spire atop the temple that is food.

Yet perilous it is for such as me
To worship at your culinary shrine,
For, in reward, nought but obesity
and raised cholesterol levels will be mine.
My doctor is a cold and heartless brute
to say that I must nibble upon fruit

Legions of the faithful.

Each Sunday morning, as the iron bell tolls
to gather to itself the Christian souls
a congregation, supplicant, arrives
and, parking across gates or blocking drives,
passes, with downcast gaze, the old church doors
(leaving behind their ill parked four by fours)
to lift their voices to the lord in praise.
While we, poor heathens, trapped inside a maze
of Rovers ranged across the narrow lane,
are captives in our Sunday homes again,
and cannot, ‘til the final blessing’s given
proceed with the more secular side of living.


On Holy days and high, when young folk wed,
At gatherings to commemorate the dead,
they pour in like an automated horde,
the products of Toyota or of Ford.
With revving engines and with smoking tails,
alarms that raise aloft their banshee wails
if anorexic wren or buzzing fly
should land upon the car (or pass nearby),
polluting, with their noised, the valleys peace
but drawing no attention from the Police.


To celebrate the season of good cheer
The motorised column steps it up a gear.
Mothers and children flock from near and far
in Chelsea tractors, following the star,
while fathers, like the Magi, follow late
in vehicles more designed to carry freight.
Creating, thus, a second metal row,
They grab their digi cameras and go
rushing to capture pictures of their brood
and entering into the festive mood.
While we, the locals, raise this song aloft,
“Come not here, all ye faithful, bugger off.”

Recession Rap by The Nerd MC's

I said Wham Bam , here comes Sham
He’s a denim clad Adonis and he don’t give a damn.
(Say what?)
He’s out on the town, gonna disco down
Shake it up, shake it down like a party clown.
He’s J. to the O. to the K. H. I.
Add a Y.A. if you can,
You get the Joker man.
He’s the master of mirth with the disastrous girth.
Hey step back Jokerman,
Next up’s Dan.

Well I’m Hip Hop Dan and I’m a tiny little man,
I’m a twister and a Turner and my own biggest fan.
I said Hotel Motel, which way should I swing?
(Say what?)
Well I’m a headed for the top and I ain’t never gonna stop
Until I get there and shout Yo!
(I said yo-oh
Yo-oh,
I said Yo-oh
Yo-oh)
I’m desperate Dan and I’m a ladies man
So don’t you diss my ho
‘Cause I’m a mad, bad geezer,
Got a body in the freezer
I was killed by a malteser but I’m back.
If you catch me in the noddy
I’ve an illustrated body
and some downy fluff around my crack.

Hey, my name is Ed, and I’m a devil in the bed
And you know that I don’t fire no blanks.
Since I learned about women, when my tads go swimmin’
They don’t do it in no Sherman Tanks.
Got a touch of halitosis and a lot of neurosis
But the girls are always hot for me
I’m a considerate lover, consider no other
‘cause I’m guaranteed to find the G.
I said G spot, Tea shop, which one will it be?
I can send you into spasms with terrific orgasms
Or I can take you for a cup of tea.

We’re the Nerd MC’s
You be down on your knees
When you catch sight of our big TV’s
We got PS3’s
And Nintendo Wii’s
And vast collections of DVD’s
But we never got girlfriends ‘til our thi-hir-tee’s
(Say what?)
No we never got girlfriends ‘til our thi-hir-tee’s.

We’re fat cat bankers on the prowl,
Come on all you ladies and hear us growl (grrr)
Since the Credit Crunch
We’re the new Wild Bunch.
We’re mad, we’re bad, we’re gonna blow
We’re totally rad and we’re dangerous to know.
The economy’s screwed, so we’re real cool dudes
And women can’t resist our attitude.
So Hip Hop Hap to the recession rap
We ain’t never had it so good,
Tip Top Tap, it’s all gone to crap
But that fine in the Banking hood.
‘Cause we’re bad Mo Fo’s and we’re gonna foreclose
Gonna call in all our loans,
We might be sub Prime, but it’s party time
‘Cause we’ve just discovered girls.

Courgettes

I've eaten boar and I've eaten bear,
I've dined on amphibians legs.
I've eaten pork scratchings that still had their hair,
I've even tried hundred year eggs.

I've consumed uni sushi, that's just orange slime,
(some say it's the best you can get).
But the thing that will make me throw up every time
Is if you tried to feed me Courgette.

No don't ever feed me courgette,
It's something you're sure to regret,
Those tiny green cukes
just give me the pukes.
No don't ever feed me courgette.

I've drunk camel's milk and sipped on mouse wine
and even American beer.
I visited Finland around Christmas time
And ate one of Santa's reindeer.

I've eaten, in temples, the offerings burnt
As appeasement to Baal or to Moloch,
And at Korean barbies, where later I learnt
That the meatballs were just the dog's bollocks.

But if you ever give me courgettes,
You will think I've contracted Turrette's.
I come over all spleeny when I see zuchinni.
No don't ever give me courgettes.

Proper British Food

Oh Mr Hale
You look so pale,
A little nauseous too,
You never should have et that snail,
I think you're going to spew.

You are a Brit, be proud of it
Don't touch that foreign muck
Don't even try it
Restrict your diet
To good old British tuck.

That foreign stuff may
make you rough
And even give you gas
An Englishman
Should be a fan
Of lager and Madras.

Reflections on an ultimatum from the wife

Hand me a bottle of Fosters,
I need to think for a bit.
I got pissed again yesterday evening
And Catherine says I'm a git

She's give me an ultimatum
To do with my conduct of life.
I cannot have beers when I want them
If I'm to have her for my wife

Catherine is fresh faced and lovely
(though feminine beauty must pass,
And even the fairest of women
Looks more fair through the end of a glass).

And a crowd of Miss Universe hopefuls,
Their beautiful eyes all aglow,
Can never be quite as alluring,
As bottles of Beck's in a row

If I should be parted from Catherine
I dread what our families would say.
Yet when I reach the end of a six pack
I just throw all the empties away

And many another six pack
Will sit in the cooler and wait.
And it won't warn me off other six packs
Or bollock me 'cause I'm home late.

Yes, if ever I parted from Catherine
I'd do so with many a tear,
But Catherine's only a woman,
And a Stella's a bird and a beer.

It's tough making such a decision,
I need to take time, time to think,
So I'm just popping down to the boozer
To work it out over a drink

The Ballad of Charlotte and Dan

It's very, very rude to sneeze, or
cough when eating a malteser.
This tale, I hope, will tell you why
and, furthermore, exemplify
That there is reason at the core
of what may seem quite trivial lore.

The hero of our tale is Dan,
A small and unambitious man,
Who, faltering in his career,
Took comfort in the world of beer.
And little knew that cupid's dart
Would shortly pierce him through the heart.

The object of his love is set
To be a girl we've not yet met.
We'll meet her now, her name is Charlotte,
She is, to be discrete, a startlet
And though her star has not yet risen
It's certain that we should envision
That one day, 'neath the limelight's blaze,
She'll tap her way across the stage.
From this, I'm sure, you can deduce
Terpsichore is Charlotte's muse,
And that she will, at every chance,
Break out into high stepping dance.

But how will Cupid bring to bear
His arrows on this disparate pair?
We find a place wherein, by chance,
Are joined together beer and dance.

For Dan, ejected from the pub,
Went onwards to a London club
Where he could sup on high priced ale
'Til in the sky the dawn was pale.
'Twas to that very club, by chance,
That Charlotte chose to go and dance.
So fate bought each to one location,
To follow their chosen recreation.

We return to Dan, how un-like him
To venture past the dancefloor's rim.
But he, for the very first time that night
Saw a woman who matched his own small height.
To the lilt of the Isley's 'Summer Breeze'
Their eyes met over a crowd of knees.
And, forcing himself into the groove,
Dan went forth to bust a move.

Together they danced 'til the club was closed,
Walked out together as dawn arose.
'Neath the morning chimes of great Big Ben,
They shyly agreed to meet again,
And Charlotte knew she'd found a winner,
When Dan suggested he cook her dinner.

The evening came of their fateful tryst,
Dan in the kitchen (a little bit pissed),
Was preparing the finest meal he could.
Let me tell you about it, it's rather good.

A starter of eggs, just lightly poached,
Over which a spicy sauce encroached
Then into the main with a fine big fillet,
Cooked medium rare on the chef's own skillet.
Profiteroles drenched in a chocolate sauce
Were a very fine choice for the pudding course.
And each of them talked, and each of them laughed,
Now taking a bite, now taking a draft,
Dan could not help but notice her lips, full and sweet,
Were but rarely inclined to be closed when she'd eat.

For the very last course he had real woman pleasers,
For they sat on the couch with a box of maltesers,
Which Dan lifted by suction, using a straw,
And then dropped gently into her gaping wide maw

But the honeycomb middle is brittle and fragile,
And Dan, after dinner, not awfully agile.
So, when Charlotte broke out with a sneeze and a cough,
And a razor sharp piece of malteser broke off,
He could not move aside 'ere it entered his eye,
Bringing us to the time when we bid Dan goodbye.
And find Charlotte distraught at her terrible loss
(though not too badly shaken to finish the box).

This tale has a moral, quite clear and quite sad,
That such brittle delights can be terribly bad.
So if you are prone to a cough and a sneeze,
Best you finish your meal with the soft fruit and cheese.

Caring for llamas and camels

Oh, don't ever mock a llama,
no don't ever make one cry.
For they're much inclined to drama
and the foolish beast may die.
When you stand before St Peter,
when you wait before his gate,
if you are a llama harmer
don't expect a happy fate.

And the same thing goes for camels
and for dromedaries too.
For all the creatures that are classed
as ungulates in the zoo.

Don't go creeping up behind
to give their back a hefty thump
(having always on your mind
the thought to make the poor beast jump),
for such a cruel whack
may quite distress the hapless mammal,
thus bringing on a heart attack
and leaving you 'sans camel'.

And later, in the dead of night,
as in your bed you lie,
you may perceive a ghastly light,
may hear an eerie cry.
Yes you may see, beside your bed,
there in the ghostly gloom,
a camel risen from the dead
to haunt you in your room.

Captain Dan

Captain Dan was an Action Man
who died in interrogation.
He never revealed the Master Plan,
he defended a heedless nation.
Now, under the earth his eagle eyes
stare sightlessy into the dark,
by the rhubarb patch, where his body lies
in a grave without a mark.

The cause of his torment is now a man,
a leader of our society.
Never a hint of where he began,
reknowned for his kindness and piety.
But at night he thinks of inflicted pain,
staring sightlessly into the dark.
He knows if he could he would do it again
and never leave a mark.

Stravros Café

Apologies to Suzanne Vega, but I am afraid that this is to the tune of 'Tom's Diner'.



When you wake up
in a doorway
and your clothes all smell of wee wee
and you notice
that beside you
is a little pool of vomit.
And your head is really hurting
and you badly need the toilet
especially as you notice
that you smell a bit like pooh.

You remember
that last evening
you went out for just a quick one
with the people
from the office
'cause you'd had a really bad day.
And you all went to a wine bar
where they serve a cheeky Merlot,
but it took a while to notice
no one else was drinking red.

And by the time
you clocked on
you were outside you first bottle
and another
bottle turned up
and it seemed rude not to drink some.
You were getting kind of slurry
and a little bit agressive,
which was probably a bad time
for your boss to come along.

But you went
across to join him
'cause you thought it was a good time
to start up
a conversation
about some of his shortcomings.
But he didn't want to listen,
which was typical of his type,
so you trapped him in a corner
and you told it to him straight.

He was quite
surprised to hear that
he was such a total arsehole
and unreasonably
suggested
you discuss it in the morning.
You remember, at that moment
someone came round with Sambuca
and you necked at least two shots down
just before you punched the boss.

You could see
his nose was bleeding
and you thought it might be broken
so you went to
try and help him
but he only kept on screaming.
Then the bouncers came and grabbed you,
you were chucked out of the winebar,
and you said you'd take them all on,
but they didnt want to fight.

It was there
outside the wine bar
that you realised you were starving
so you thought
the best idea
would be to visit Stavros' café.
Because when you have a skinful
there is nothing that tastes better
than a great big pile of Donner
and a load of chili sauce.

You are too pissed
to eat in here
said the man who runs the café.
So you gave him
the two fingers
and you staggered up the High street,
and you saw a nice shop doorway
where you sat and ate your Donner
but it made you want to throw up,
after which you fell asleep.

Then you wake up
in a doorway
and your clothes all smelt of wee wee
and you noticed
that beside you
was a little pool of vomit.
And your head was really hurting
and you badly need the toilet
especially as you noticed
that you smelt a bit like pooh.

Da da dah da
da da dah da
........................................

If (with apologies to Rudyard Kipling)

If you can turn a profit when the others
are losing their's and don't know what to do.
If you won't hesitate to sell your mother,
and maybe to throw in your sister too.

If you can drink all night and not get plastered
or dine with customers that you just hate,
and not let on that they're all total bastards
('til after you have screwed them on the rate).

If you can meet with brokers or with vendors
and tell them that they'll make a pile of loot,
when all the time you've only one agenda,
to make them pay for drugs and prostitutes.

If you cock up by going long on Cable,
when everyone says Sterling's going to fail,
and know that you are going to be able
to blame it on IT if you should bail.

If you can whinge when you receive a bonus
that buys you an apartment in the Cays,
complaining over Bolly with your cronies
that Labour's brought the country to its knees.

If you find words a bit too complicated,
if you communicate in grunting sounds,
if you think evolution's over rated
and when you walk your knuckles scrape the ground.

If you spend all the time you should be working
surfing the web or talking about sex,
if you could teach a MasterClass in shirking
the chances are that you trade Spot FX

The maiden and the gigolo

A young Italian male, up for a night out in the city
takes elaborate precautions to be certain that he's pretty.
He's quite preoccupied by his tonsorial preparation.
His follicles are at the point of Brylcreme saturation.
With a new Armani suit and a shirt of shocking pink
he's just the kind of boy you'd like to take out for a drink.

And here's a shy young English maiden, on her way out to the dance.
The night, for her, is laden with the promise of romance.
A pretty picture she, in her sophisticated dress,
in flushed anticipation of a lover's first caress.
She whispers out her fondest wish upon the brightest star,
That she might find a young man, with his own teeth and a car.

There's a trendy London couple are hosting a soirée,
a Mecca for the beautiful, from near and far away.
There's wine and beer and Champer's, all the cocktails you can mix,
there's food from Fortnum's hampers and there's sausages on sticks.
There never was a better chance to circulate and mingle
with others of outstanding grace, the pretty, young and single.

So here's a common venue where these two young folk are drawn,
(For in Aphrodite's chess game is not each of us a pawn).
Our young Italian gigolo is first upon the scene,
his eyes and smile a-glitter and his hair a sullen gleam.
He looks every inch the dandy in his smart designer gear,
for that Georgio Armani tailors amply in the rear.

The maiden fair, arriving next, is greeted by the host,
who's keen to offer all that his establishment can boast.
She asks of him a French Vermouth (he doesn't know the brand)
but in the name of hospitality takes the matter into hand,
and, ushering her in, to make her welcome in his home,
returns an moment later with our proud young son of Rome.

“I think I heard you right, you asked me for a Noilly Prat?
I hope that this will fill the bill, I leave you two to chat.”
And chat he did, 'til dawn's cold light into the sky did creep,
('twas only then he noticed that he'd bored the girl to sleep).
And on they chat, and chat they shall, together now for life,
for you've just been told the story of how Marco met his wife.

Sliding out a sly one

I'm sliding out a crafty one,
I'm being most discrete.
I'll slope off, slyly, when it's done
and leave it on your seat.
It's good to leave one's scent behind,
a funny thing to do,
especially when, last night, you've dined,
on pungent Vindaloo.

I'm sliding out a sneaky one,
a pungent little gift.
It really is a lot of fun
to leave one in a lift.
It's vital, in a closed in space,
to make sure that it's silent,
and get out once you've done, in case,
your helpless prey turn violent.

I'm sliding out a sly one,
It's leaving quite a pong.
I'm careful that it doesn't run
in case it all goes wrong.
It has to be exactly right,
I don't hold back, nor push,
for then I'd run the risk it might
all come out in a gush.

Limericks

A young gambler, known as Shamir,
was fond of casinos, we hear
that he liked the odd punt,
liquor, up at the front,
and Poker, of course, in the rear.


There's not many who have seen Paul's
unfeasibly well shaven balls.
They produce silky down,
from which he's made a gown
and a number of very nice shawls.

A brief guide to the calculation of MTM P&L in the FX market.

You should compute position at PV
With Discount Factors from the market rates
Which you interpolate, (log-linearly),
To give the values for your broken dates.
Then sum the cash flows for each given date,
This sum times Discount Factor will provide,
A set of values, summed again to calculate
A total to which, now, may be applied
A reval FX rate. This will return
the Dollar value of your currency.
Add this to your true Dollar and you'll learn
Your P&L (again shown at PV).

The outcome of this simple set of sums
Will form the base from which your bonus comes.

The nutritional value of sausages

Sausages are not a fruit,
I'm very sad to say.
They cannot, therefore, constitute
one of your Five a Day.

Social networking

Tell of your love on Facebook
Share it with your mates,
let us know what's happening
with regular updates.
We will follow closely
as the passion escalates.
Tell it all on Facebook.

Tell it all on Facebook,
the social network site.
Let us know if everything
between you is alright,
and all the little things
that you get up to every night.
Share it with the whole wide world on Facebook

Share it with the whole wide world on Facebook,
Tell us you can't bear to be apart,
Copy us on messages between you,
sign off every message with a heart.
Have you reached the stage where you can push her
underneath the duvet and then fart?
Take us through it step by step on Facebook.

Take us through it step by step on Facebook.
There is nothing better to elate us,
than to see each loving little snippet
faithfully recorded on your status.
Does she think her tummy's getting bigger?
Are you hoping that it's all just flatus?
Share those worries with your friends on Facebook.

Share those worries with your friends on Facebook,
tell us every time you have a break up,
Post for us each tiny little detail
(straight on line, the minute that you wake up).
Your friends all want to know of how she caught you
trying on her underwear and make up.
Tell us how depraved you are on Facebook.

Tell us how depraved you are on Facebook.
Share with us the day that you get dumped
because she's checked out all her girlfriends profiles
and found out that there's one of them you've humped.
By the way, her dad has just joined Facebook.
He's coming round, you're going to get thumped.
Don't give away your hiding place on Facebook.

The Actors and the Guardsmen

There's an office of convenience
in a well known London park
where Thespians and Guardsmen
sometimes meet up after dark.
The soldiers are quite charming
and the Actors lose their hearts,
which makes them feel much better
if they only have small parts.

Small parts, small parts, small parts, small parts.
Oh the Actors feel much better if they only have small parts.

A jolly time is had by all
and many a likely lad
may waltz off with an Actor
old enough to be his dad.
Some nights there's entertainment
from the regimental band,
some with big drums on their chests
and some with piccolos in hand.

In hand, in hand, in hand, in hand
Oh you can't resist a Guardsman with his piccolo in hand

The dancing is a sight to see,
it goes on through the night.
But as it gets to morning
and the Eastern sky grows bright,
Actors need their beauty sleep,
for Guardsmen duty calls.
But everyone is happy,
for they love their summer balls.

Their balls, their balls, their balls, their balls.
Oh the actors and the guardsmen have a great time at their balls.

When a Guard is on parade,
why there's no finer sight than that,
with brightly polished weapon
and a great big furry hat.
But if you meet a guard
don't ever ask him where he's been,
for he's not allowed to tell you
that he's stood before a queen.

A queen, a queen, a queen, a queen.
Oh a Guardsmean won't admit he's stood erect before a queen.

The Guardsmen, in their training
as a military force,
climb ropes and nets and walls
out on the army assault course.
Sometimes the Actors try it,
and it's really quite a hoot
to see the old chaps struggle
up the Guardsmen's slippery chute.

Their chute, their chute, their chute, their chute.
Oh the Guardsmen really love to get the old boys up their chute.

Now the Guards are very fit
(they have to march so awfully fast
and, when they're on manouevers,
have the stamina to last).
But however far they go,
and even if they get a step on,
they're always very sure
to keep a firm hand on their weapon.

Their weapon, their weapon, their weapon, their weapon
Oh you'll often see a soldier holding tightly to his weapon.

A Guardsman may grow old
and leave the service of the Queen.
And some may even tread the boards
and join the acting scene.
The Critics and the Press
wil give them honorable mention,
and later, in the park,
the young Guards stand up to attention.

Attention, attention, attention, attention.
Oh the old boys can still make the young Guards stand up to attention.